


What To Do

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was more to Bruce than just Batman, and everyone always seems to forget about the ones he leaves behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What To Do

**Author's Note:**

> This is hella stupid and I don’t care. In case anyone’s forgotten, I am still on my mission to make every adult of the DCU Damian’s parent, starting with CK. The observation of Alfred is based off of Clark’s monologue in Batman/Superman #21.

Before becoming the Wayne family butler, Alfred had been trained in acting and was damn _good_ at it. 

Clark _knew_ that, Clark _accepted_ that. He also accepted that for the fact that it presented – that despite Alfred’s tears, and assurances otherwise, Bruce Wayne wasn’t dead.

Alfred Pennyworth _knew_ Bruce Wayne wasn’t actually dead.

But right now, when a small red object flew by his head and hit the thug who was about to punch him in the face, he realized – 

That didn’t mean everyone else knew that, too.

He’d forgotten. Despite the events of a few months prior, of a miraculous resurrection, and the even more miraculous abilities that came with that. Despite the haughty attitude the vigilante carried himself around with, despite the fact that he followed and defended Batman like a loyal puppy, Clark had forgotten.

Robin was only ten years old.

Twelve, if you wanted to tack on the years he was dead.

Twelve and strong and feeling completely and utterly alone.

Because Alfred Pennyworth knew Bruce Wayne wasn’t dead.

But no one felt the need to tell his children that, too.

_Goddammit, Bruce._

The fight wasn’t going to take long anyway, but it took even less time now that Clark had a red-and-yellow shadow. The kid fought with his emotions on his sleeve – funny, since he claimed he didn’t really have any, that there was no use for emotions – and there was a sadness in his punches. An agony in his kicks that only came from the feeling of losing everything.

After all, Clark had seen Bruce fight the same way for years.

When the dust settled – both figuratively and literally, _man_ , Gotham could use a couple street cleaners – Damian was standing a few feet away, back turned and hood up.

“I heard you lost your abilities, Kent.” He called.

“It’s a long story.” Clark chuckled, taking the statement for what he knew it was – an attempt at small talk. “But thanks for the assist.”

He paused, knowing Damian wouldn’t have helped him without a reason. The kid was a good apple, but he and Clark weren’t exactly close, he’d made that clear when Batman brought him to the Watchtower a few months ago. So for him to appear, to help him in what he perceived as a jam…there had to be a motive.

“Hey, are you okay, Damian?”

And waiting out a Bat was something Clark had learned how to do years ago.

Eventually, Damian turned his head, just enough that Clark could see his nose, peeking out of the hood. 

“…Father is dead.”

_No he’s not._

“I know. Alfred told me.”

A pause, and Clark could see Damian look at the ground. “Grayson is dead, too.”

_Oh. Yeah._

“I know.” Clark repeated, quieter. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t-” Damian’s words were clipped and panicked. Suddenly, he spun around, facing Clark with watery eyes and an open face, and took a step forward. “I don’t know what to do.”

 _Well, duh._ Clark thought bitterly _. You’re a Robin without a Batman. Without_ either _of your Batmen._

Clark closed the distance, watching as Damian kept his eyes glued to his face, as an errant tear escaped those masked eyes. He put his hand on Damian’s shoulder as the boy whispered, “I don’t know what to do now, Superman.”

 _Please help me_ was left unsaid, but Clark could read it loud and clear, on the boy’s features. Remembered seeing it on the faces of others he’d saved, or tried to. Jumpers, gunmen, muggers. People at the end of their rope.

Clark sighed, pulled Damian forward and into his arms. Damian slumped against him instantly. And he didn’t know this kid well, didn’t know if Bruce or Dick or any one of the Bats ever offered this comfort to him before; they probably did, but the motion broke his heart nonetheless.

_…Goddammit, Bruce._

“You don’t have to do anything.” Clark said gently, though could already hear the argument Damian was about to make, on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t need his superpowers to sense that. “You just have to be happy and safe.”

“But-”

“That’s all they ever wanted for you.” Clark cut off, running a hand over Damian’s hood. Damian tilted his head back, staring up with those blue eyes clear behind the lenses. Clark smiled softly at him. “You know that.”

It took a second, but Damian finally nodded in agreement.

They stood there for a moment, Damian ducking his head back down against Clark’s chest, and Clark wondered what he was going to do with him. He could take responsibility for him, no problem. Bruce was his best friend; it was like Damian – and Jason and Tim and Dick and Cassandra – was his unofficial godson. But he couldn’t take him with him back to Metropolis, especially not with everyone knowing his identity. That would just open a whole new can of worms that neither of them were probably equipped to deal with, at least not properly.

And God forbid the _new_ Batman found out…

(Though, did he have a stake in Damian’s livelihood? Did he _know_ about Damian? Did Damian know about _him_?)

In the end, though, he decided he’d call Red Robin, or maybe Batgirl. They knew this kid better, knew what he needed and probably knew better how to handle him. Hell, if he couldn’t get a hold of them, he could still call Ma. After all, Damian looked like he could use some time away from Gotham, and Ma was great with kids. Just look how he turned out.

So yeah, he’ll call them. 

…In a little while.

Because, it was a nice thought. That Damian sought _him_ out for help, came to him this vulnerable, as opposed to the others, the more immediate members of his family. And besides, he should probably thank him for helping him out with the fight.

“Hey,” He pushed Damian back, tried to give him his brightest grin. “You hungry? I think I owe you an ice cream cone or something. You did just save my butt after all.”

Damian seemed a little confused by the change of topic, but went with it anyway. “…Grayson used to tell me a story that you took him to a diner here, when you worked cases with Father. He said they had the best root beer floats.”

“Danny’s Diner, on Fourth.” Clark laughed. “I remember. Bruce would get so jealous. And Alfred used to get so mad, because Dick would always come home with food slopped all over his Robin uniform.”

“…I believe it is still open.” Damian muttered thoughtfully. “If you wish to…”

“Of course.” Clark said instantly, turning and heading in the direction he thought it was. They were on Seventeenth Street, so it should be a straight shot. He chuckled when he felt Damian jump to his side and fall instantly into step. “Hey, did Dick ever tell you the time I took him to the diner and he fell asleep in the booth?”

Damian barely suppressed his smile. “No.”

Clark laughed out loud, ignoring the stares they were getting as they strolled down the road, focusing more on the awed stare Damian was looking up at him with as he tried to keep up with Clark’s long strides. “Oh, it was _hilarious_. The waitress took _so many_ _pictures_. Your dad got all flustered, because he had to carry Robin back to the Batmobile. And _apparently_ , it’s hard to look tough and intimidating when you’re carrying a tiny, sleeping child in your arms. Your dad wouldn’t talk to me a for a _week_ after that…”


End file.
